


On The Road Again

by ruric



Category: Actor RPF, Kane (Band)
Genre: Community: comment_fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-08
Updated: 2009-03-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 18:02:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruric/pseuds/ruric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You just about finished there or you wanna be a prima-donna for a while longer?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Road Again

Steve can’t miss the thunk of something solid hitting the wall with considerable force.

He’s standing outside the Green Room enjoying a conversation with a blonde who’s legs go all the way to her armpits and who has only one thing on her mind, if the way she keeps smiling at him and leaning in close so he can see all the way down her cleavage is anything to go by. 

But Steve knows his chance to slide away somewhere quiet is about to disappear into thin air when the thunk comes again.

The door to the Green Room is yanked open and their guest liaison emerges. She looks a little bit wild eyed and a whole hell of a lot pissed off. Her easy smile is gone, lips pressed tightly together, short dark hair standing up in spikes where she’s obviously been running her fingers through it and she stomps over to him.

“I give up, you go deal with him,” she mutters as she walks past.

Steve sighs and regretfully peels Mandy..Sandy..Candy...the blonde’s fingers from his arm. It’s not that she’s forgettable, far from it, but he’s met so many people over the last 12 hours that faces and names are starting to blur. 

“Sorry but duty calls.”

He brushes the barest of kisses across her cheek because there’s no point in tanking his chances for the entire weekend, before he slips into the Green Room.

There’s an over turned chair just inside the door, one of the stainless steel pitchers that had iced water in lies beside the chair, and the carpet squishes under his boots. 

A steady stream of curses is falling from Chris’s lips “fuckin’ motherfucker” making a regular enough appearance in the litany that Steve knows they’re on the downward slope towards serious trouble. Chris’s pacing up a storm, long neck in one hand, and the only break in the curses is when he lifts the bottle to his lips. 

Three years on the con circuit, and Chris still gets nervous when they’re asked to play. Just the two of them, no band to back them up and playing acoustic in an empty hall not designed for bands is always going to get him twitchy. The sound check had sucked this morning, the sound too high and tinny, no depth or resonance but they’d been working on it.

Eric has the head of the tech crew backed into the opposite corner and he’s talking low and fast. He shoots Steve a look – the one Steve mentally calls Eric’s Number 4 glare, which roughly translates as “I’ve got this in hand _you_ talk him down” before he shepherds the guy out.

Steve locks the door, picks the chair up and wedges it under the handle, because he sure as hell doesn’t want anyone walking in on them. Been a while since Chris has worked himself up into a rage and he’s never sure which way it’ll end and it wouldn’t be the first time Chris’s thrown a punch before he’s thought it through.

“You just about finished there or you wanna be a prima-donna for a while longer?”

Chris turns and the curses stutter to a stop, pink flush staining his cheeks as his eyes go to the Eric-shaped space in the room.

“You’re looking a little tense there...”

Steve walks over, backs Chris up against the nearest wall.

“Oh come on you don’t...”

Steve doesn’t give him a chance to finish the sentence. He just winds his fingers into Chris’s hair, stops the tumble of words with his mouth and lets his hips rock into Chris’s body and waits until he’s pretty sure his lungs are gonna burst before he comes up for air.

“You need to shut up and chill the fuck out...”

Steve drops to his knees, fingers popping the buttons on Chris’s jeans and when he glances up it’s to see pupils blown wide and the flush staining Chris’s skin has nothing to do with anger.

There’s some advantages to being on the road and Steve thinks this might just be one of them.


End file.
